The Kingdom of Carbonel

by Barbara Sleigh

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  The Kingdom Of CARBONEL

  Barbara Sleigh was born in 1906 in Warwickshire. She took an art teacher’s training course, and began to write stories for children for radio. She was a lecturer at Goldsmiths’ Teacher Training College, then in 1933 joined the staff of BBC Children’s Hour. Three years later she married David Davis, who later became Head of Children’s Hour.

  The Kingdom of Carbonel, the second book in the Carbonel trilogy, was first published over forty years ago and today it is still one of the most popular fantasies for younger children.

  Barabara Sleigh died in 1982.

  Books by Barbara Sleigh

  CARBONEL

  THE KINGDOM OF CARBONEL

  CARBONEL AND CALIDOR

  GRIMBLEGRAW AND THE WUTHERING WITCH

  NINETY-NINE DRAGONS

  The Kingdom of CARBONEL

  BARBARA SLEIGH

  Illustrated by Richard Kennedy

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Ireland, 25 St Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia

  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

  Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi – 110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand

  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  puffinbooks.com

  First published in the USA by Bobbs-Merrill 1960

  Published in Puffin Books 1971

  Reissued in this edition 2007

  1

  Text copyright © Barbara Sleigh, 1960

  All rights reserved

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  EISBN: 978–0–141–90232–6

  Contents

  1 The Green Cave

  2 Carbonel Again

  3 Prism Powder

  4 Hedgem and Fudge

  5 The Red Mixture

  6 The Royal Kittens

  7 Figg’s Bottom

  8 The Rocking Chair

  9 The Walled Garden

  10 Making Plans

  11 Cat Country

  12 Conspiracy

  13 Stranded

  14 Gone!

  15 Miss Dibdin’s Magic

  16 Invisible

  17 Adelaide Row

  18 Calidor

  19 The Pet Shop

  20 ‘All Hands to the Pump’

  21 Dossy

  22 The Queen of Sheba

  23 Milly

  24 The Counter-Spell

  25 The Green Mixture

  26 Council of War

  27 The Friendship Ceremony

  28 The Attack

  29 Minuscule Magic

  30 The Return of the Kings

  31 The Final Magic

  1

  The Green Cave

  Rosemary Brown picked a stick of rhubarb from the end of the garden, and taking care not to spill the sugar in the saucer she was carrying, bent herself double and crept between the currant bushes. Then she sat down in the green cave made by the unpruned branches which met over her head. The ground was covered with coarse grass, and it made a very comfortable secret place.

  She dipped the rhubarb into the saucer and bit off the sweetened end with a crunch. In spite of the sugar, it was so sour that it made her nose wrinkle, so she licked the end of her finger, pressed it in the saucer and finished the sugar that way instead. When it was all gone, she lay flat on her back with her hands under her head and stared up at the summer sky which showed through the shifting chinks between the leaves.

  There was half an hour before she would need to get ready to meet her friend John at the station, and the whole summer lay ahead. It was nearly a year since she had seen him, but what a full year it had been! First of all there had been moving. Life was very pleasant now that she and her mother lived in the top flat at 101 Cranshaw Road, instead of in uncomfortable furnished rooms. Then there had been the fun of playing in the big, pleasantly neglected garden. Lessons, too, had gone so much better. She had worked very hard and, as a result, had won a scholarship and next term was going to the high school. Being between two schools gave her a pleasantly suspended feeling, like treading water.

  Rosemary gently prodded a ladybird which had been walking over the gingham mountain of her chest. She wanted it to climb on to her finger.

  ‘I hope it will be as much fun playing with John this holiday as it was last summer,’ she said aloud to the little creature. After being headed off twice, it had obligingly clambered on to her fingernail.

  ‘We had some glorious games,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘Of course we had the garden at Tussocks to play in then.’ Tussocks was the grand home of John’s aunt who lived outside the town. ‘But it’s a funny thing, Ladybird, I can’t remember what it was that was such fun when John came to play with me! It was something to do with a black cat. He was called Carbonel. And then there was an old woman whose name was Mrs Cantrip. I think,’ she added slowly, ‘she was a witch, and there was magic. Or did I dream that part?’

  Rosemary frowned. She had a vague idea that magic and high school girls did not go together, so she shook her head in a puzzled way. ‘I’m sure there was something else.’

  The ladybird was now plodding laboriously up the slope of her finger. When it reached the back of her hand, it sat quite still for a moment in one of the little dapples of sunlight that filtered through the leaves, then, without any warning, spread its spotted wings and flew away.

  ‘Of course! Flying!’ said Rosemary, sitting up suddenly. ‘That’s what we did, and on a broomstick! Now I wonder if –’

  But she never said what she wondered, for sitting at her feet, quite motionless, with his eyes closed as though he was waiting for something, was the most magnificent black cat she had ever seen. The golden flecks of sunshine gleamed on his glossy coat and the magnificent span of his whiskers. He opened his great yellow eyes as Rosemary sat up, but he did not move.

  ‘Why,’ said Rosemary, ‘I was just that minute thinking of a black cat I knew once… or I think I did… or perhaps I dreamed about…’ She tailed off lamely. The feeling that the creature had been sitting there for some time without her knowledge, combined with his unwinking golden stare, made her feel a little uncomfortable.

  ‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘you are almost as beautiful as the cat in my dream, and he was a royal cat, so you need not be offended,’ she added hurriedly, almost to herself.

  The animal had lifted its head in a disdainful way.

  ‘May I stroke you?’ she asked a little shyly, putting ou
t her hand. But before she could touch him she heard her mother calling from the house.

  ‘Rosie! Time to get ready, dear!’

  Rosemary turned to the sound of her mother’s voice. When she looked back again, the black cat had disappeared.

  ‘Rosie!’ called her mother faintly, but more urgently this time.

  Rosemary crawled out on hands and knees, but she did not answer her mother until she reached the lawn, because she wanted to keep the Green Cave a secret.

  ‘Coming, Mummy!’ she called.

  She looked back as she reached the house, and she was just in time to see a black cat leap up on to the garden wall, trot along the top and disappear behind the tool shed.

  John’s train was late. When it came in at last and hissed itself to a standstill, the doors burst open and people poured out in every direction. Rosemary and her mother looked anxiously up and down the busy platform, but they could not see him.

  ‘That looks like John over there,’ said Rosemary, ‘but it couldn’t be – he’s too tall!’

  But the boy came up to them, grinned and said, ‘How are you, Mrs Brown? Hello, Rosie!’

  He refused any help with his suitcase and walked to the gate with Mrs Brown. The two of them talked together about the journey, about John’s father and mother and about how hot it was. Rosemary followed, carrying John’s raincoat. Studying his back as she walked behind, she realized that she had to look up to the tuft of hair that still stood up at the back of his head. Last summer it had been level with the top of her own fair hair. He was talking to her mother in a rather grown-up way. Rosemary’s heart sank.

  ‘Well, at least his hair does still stick up,’ she thought to herself. ‘That’s something, I suppose. He’s come for three whole weeks, and if he’s gone all grown-up since last year, whatever shall we do all the time?’

  They had tea as soon as they reached home. It was a special tea, with watercress, strawberry jam and brandy snaps which Rosemary had made herself. A lot of them had broken, but she had thought it did not matter, because she and John could eat the bits afterward in the Green Cave. Now, she did not feel sure that John was the sort of person who would enjoy the Green Cave at all.

  It was a quiet meal, with Mrs Brown making most of the conversation. Afterward, John politely offered to help wash up.

  ‘Not when you have only just arrived, dear,’ said Mrs Brown. ‘But you can help Rosie clear away, then I expect you would like to run and play in the garden. I’ll see to the tea things.’ She watched a little anxiously while they both stood with loaded trays, each standing back politely to let the other through the door.

  When they had stacked the plates, they ran down the four flights of stairs into the garden.

  ‘It really belongs to all the flats. The garden, I mean,’ explained Rosemary. ‘But the grownups hardly use it. There are no other children, so the garden is practically mine. Would you like to see my flower bed?’

  They walked sedately down the path, while Rosemary tried to think of something to say.

  ‘Did you have a good term – at school, I mean?’

  ‘Not bad,’ said John.

  ‘Oh good!’ said Rosemary. ‘I’m going to the high school next term. I expect I shall have a ponytail.’

  ‘Sally’s got one. You remember, my elder sister? It was perfectly sickening. One minute she was decent – sandals and plaits, like you, and the next she wore a ponytail and slip-on shoes, and wouldn’t play anything sensible.’

  Rosemary only half listened; the other half was thinking: ‘This just can’t be the same John I played with last summer who had all those glorious adventures with me! Perhaps this proves that I did dream the magic part, and the flying, and the black cat that talked.’

  ‘Goodness!’ she said aloud. ‘Talking of black cats, there he is again!’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about black cats,’ said John.

  ‘That’s the second time today,’ said Rosemary excitedly. ‘Look on the garden wall!’

  John looked. Then he said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘I expect it’s Carbonel.’

  ‘John!’ said Rosemary, and she turned to look at him, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Then it did happen! You remember the magic, and the flying and everything?’

  ‘Of course it happened!’ said John in astonishment. ‘Good old Carbonel! Come on, Rosie, let’s see if we can catch him!’

  They ran to the garden wall and looked along it both ways, but there was no sign of the cat. John stood on the rusty old garden roller and tried to look along the top, but the roller moved when he stood on tiptoe, and he fell off on to a rubbish heap. When he sat up with leaves in his hair, Rosemary began to giggle, and presently John joined her. The invisible wall of shyness between them melted as though it had never been.

  ‘Come on, come and see my Green Cave!’ said Rosemary, as she pulled John to his feet.

  They crawled in on hands and knees.

  ‘What a glorious place!’ said John, as he tucked his feet under him. There was not much room for two.

  ‘Let’s make this our headquarters!’

  It was going to be all right after all, thought Rosemary, and she ferreted happily under a pile of leaves and brought out the broken brandy snaps in a biscuit tin. They sat and munched happily together.

  ‘I’m not really going to have a ponytail,’ said Rosemary suddenly.

  ‘You are an owl, Rosie!’ said John, and tweaked one of her plaits in a friendly way. ‘Come on, let’s go and play something!’

  2

  Carbonel Again

  Mrs Brown was a widow. She added to her small pension by dressmaking. The house in Cranshaw Road belonged to Mr Featherstone, who ran a travelling Repertory Company called the Netherley Players. Instead of paying rent for the flat, Rosemary’s mother looked after the costumes of the Company. These were kept in the old stables of the house.

  After breakfast next morning, Mrs Brown said, ‘Rosie, dear, I’ve got to get on with those Roman togas in the costume room this morning – simply miles of machining, so will you and John do some shopping for me?’

  They fetched a basket. With the shopping list on the outside of an old envelope and a pound note inside, they ran downstairs.

  ‘Good heavens!’ said John, as they closed the front door behind them. ‘There he is again!’

  Sure enough, on top of one of the stone balls that stood on each gatepost, sat Carbonel. As soon as John and Rosemary reached the gate, he dropped silently down beside them.

  ‘Good morning!’ said Rosemary politely. ‘We’re going shopping, but we shan’t be long.’

  ‘It’s a funny thing,’ said John, ‘but he makes me feel I ought to bow to him. Hallo! He’s following.’

  Carbonel was trotting quietly at their heels. He went with them to the baker’s, and the fishmonger’s, and the grocer’s and the little shop that sold newspapers and sweets and ices.

  Once, they tried to see if they could shake him off by running quickly around a corner and diving down a little alley. But when they came out of the alleyway, after waiting for several minutes, there the black cat was sitting at the entrance, quietly washing his paws, which made them feel rather silly. The only difference was that from that moment on he walked beside instead of behind them, as though he intended that they should not escape.

  On the way home, they sat down on a seat by the side of a quiet road to eat the ice creams they had bought at the little shop. They licked in silence, and Carbonel sat at their feet and stared and stared at them.

  ‘He’s beginning to make me feel uncomfortable,’ said John.

  ‘Do you think he’s hungry?’ suggested Rosemary.

  ‘Doesn’t… look… like it. Fat… as butter,’ replied John in the jerky way of someone whose tongue is occupied with capturing escaping ice cream.

  ‘Now you’ve offended him!’ said Rosemary reproachfully. Carbonel had turned his back on John and was gazing up at Rosemary. ‘Are you hungry, Carbonel?’

  She held out
the packet of fish. It was one of those very fishy parcels. Carbonel’s nose quivered slightly at the enticing smell, but he closed his eyes resolutely and opened his mouth in a disdainful yawn.

  ‘Well, it’s clearly not that,’ said John. ‘Listen, Carbonel –’ he went on. But the animal continued to sit with his back turned, as though John did not exist.

  ‘I expect you’d better apologize, John,’ said Rosemary.

  John muttered something under his breath and then thought better of it.

  ‘I’m sorry, Carbonel, honestly I am. I forgot how touchy you are. But I do wish to goodness we knew what was the matter!’

  ‘Do you want to tell us something?’ said Rosemary.

  Carbonel turned and, putting his front paws on Rosemary’s knee, licked the back of her hand with a warm, rasping tongue.

  ‘But how can you tell us?’ asked John.

  Greatly daring, Rosemary stooped down and gathered the black cat into her arms, because she felt he needed comforting. He was so heavy that it was quite an effort. She put him on her knee. He no longer fitted into the hollow of her lap, and she had to hold him with both arms or he would have overflowed on to the wooden seat.

  ‘We’d do anything we could to help you, Carbonel. Wouldn’t we, John?’

  John nodded. ‘But how can we tell what is the matter if you can’t talk to us? What can we do?’

  ‘Why don’t we consult Mrs Cantrip?’ suggested John. ‘I know she is supposed to have retired from being a witch, but perhaps we could persuade her to tell us if there is anything we could do. Hi! Carbonel!’ he protested.

  At the mention of Mrs Cantrip, Carbonel stood up on Rosemary’s knee and, with a deep, bass purr, thrust the top of his sleek head against her chin again and again. Then he jumped on to John’s lap, upsetting the shopping basket so that fish, biscuits, bacon and sugar went rolling on to the ground. They stuffed them back into the basket and set off home, Carbonel with tail erect, trotting before them.